


At the Top of the Hour

by romanticalgirl



Category: WKRP in Cincinnati
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:03:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breaking news as it happens</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the Top of the Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/profile)[**nolivingman**](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/) and [](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/profile)[**inlovewithnight**](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/) for beta-work and read-through. Written for Cyanne for [](http://yuletide.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://yuletide.livejournal.com/)**yuletide**
> 
> Originally posted 1-1-09

Venus stares at the van, blatant horror in his eyes. Andy’s rocking back and forth from his heels to his toes with his hands stuffed in his pockets, looking imminently pleased with himself. “It’s pretty neat, huh?”

“Neat.” Venus nods, unsure what else he’s supposed to do…or say, though he’s relatively certain that Andy might take offense if he were to burst into hysterical laughter or run as fast and as far as he possibly can to get away before anyone thinks he’s got anything to do with the bright green and orange monstrosity Andy’s rented. “That’s…a word for it.”

“What do you think of the logo?”

The logo is plastered across one side of the van in florescent purple paint, a 3-D WKRP that looks angry enough to jump out and slap Venus across the face. “That’s quite a logo.”

“What on earth is that?” Bailey’s voice is crisp as the fall air as she comes down and stands beside Venus. Her hair is whipping around in the wind, and her glasses reflect the rising sun, glints of gold and red setting fire to her eyes.

“That’s our van,” Andy informs her with another solid nod of his head. “What do you think?”

“It looks like the sixties threw up on it.” Bailey scratches her nose with her gloved hand and looks at Andy. “Did you lose a bet?”

“With Mrs. Carlson.” Andy sighs and settles his cowboy hat more firmly on his head. “Yes.”

Venus lets out a long, low whistle as he walks toward the van. “Must have been some bet.”

Bailey tilts her head, offering Andy a small smile. “Did she give you a choice between the van or your virtue?”

Andy blushes and adjusts his hat again, tugging it lower on his head to hide his face. “Let’s get on the road.”

Bailey salutes, picking up her overnight bag and thermos, following Andy to the van. “You know, if you’d given her your virtue, you wouldn’t have had to drag Venus and myself into it.”

“Bailey.” Andy’s voice is rough with embarrassment and his face adds a whole new palette to the van’s unsightly color scheme. “Get in the van.”

**

“So, how’d you get Les to agree to let Bailey come on this trip?” Venus asks softly, glancing at Bailey in the back seat, absorbed in her notes with her feet curled up under her.

“Tonight is the Silver Sow Award Banquet,” Andy intones in a serious voice, sounding far too much like Les. “There’s no way he’d pass that up.”

“Especially for a two-bit, hackneyed piece of non-news,” Bailey adds, flipping to another page of notes, her own Les impression nearly as good as his. “This is exactly the sort of thing up Bailey’s alley, Andy.”

Andy takes over again. “Give her some experience on the non-important stuff. Leave the real news to me.”

“Wow,” Venus voice conveys a mixture of respect and fear. “You guys have Les nailed.”

“No,” Bailey says, her smile somewhat wry. “Those are his exact words.”

“Said directly to Bailey’s face.” Andy adjusts his hat back on his head. “Les isn’t exactly tactful.”

“Les doesn’t know what tactful means,” Venus reminds them both. “What I can’t figure is how I got roped into coming along.”

“Johnny wouldn’t get up this early.” Bailey sips from her Styrofoam cup and then makes a face at her cooled coffee. “Besides Venus goes better with the paranormal.”

“This isn’t paranormal. This is superstition and complete hooey.” Andy doesn’t look away from the road. “But they asked us to come, and it’s not like we have a lot of other stuff going on. So it’s up to Sandusky we go.”

“Well, Venus goes better with superstition and hooey too.” Bailey looks up from her notes, a soft blush staining her cheeks. “No offense.”

“Hooey, huh?” Venus shakes his head and turns his attention back to his newspaper. Andy glances back at Bailey and smiles before focusing on the road again, humming along with the radio as he taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “You really listening to our station?”

Andy nods. “Yup. Someone has to, right?”

Venus laughs and shakes his head. “Suppose that’s true.” He hands Bailey the newspaper. “You read this?”

She leans forward, her foot on the floor of the van and her hair falling around her face as she reaches for the paper. Venus watches Andy try not to watch, hiding his own smile as Andy’s eyes dart from the road to Bailey and back. “The truth about Bessie?”

“I’ve heard that facts are the most important thing in any news reporters’ arsenal.” Venus smiles, the hint of a laugh in his voice. “Not from our actual news man, who seems a bit averse to them, mind you, but I’ve heard rumors.”

“It’s a local legend, Venus.” Bailey skims the paper and then hands it back. “I don’t think facts come into play.” She settles back in her seat and picks up her notebook again. “Besides, I did all my research before we left Cincinnati.”

Andy gives Venus a look and turns the radio up just a little louder. “And nobody’s surprised.”

**

The Lake Erie Monster Festival is just starting when Andy drives through the semi-crowded parking lot toward the business entrance. Several other news and radio vans are already there, all of them setting up spaces under a large tent set up close to the water’s edge. Andy and Venus head toward the tables beneath it, looking for the WKRP logo. They load their cases on it, setting up the remote station. Bailey walks a little slower, surveying the crowd and listening to the buzz of the event. She jots notes as she walks, drawing arrows from one thought to another to make her story.

Lots of families with kids and ice chests, lawn chairs and picnic baskets are moving into the area that’s been cordoned off for the event. Banners made to look like seaweed dangle from tent-poles like some twisted underwater May Day celebration. Local groups staff booths stocked with insurance fliers and household tips, car and boat dealer information as well as self-published books on the Legend of Bessie complete with hand-drawn pictures and grainy photographs of brownish, blackish blobs in the water.

She hears Venus’ voice as he tests his mike, getting ready to broadcast once Andy gets the signal from the station. She’ll do an initial kicker, but her main report will be an hour in and then sporadic throughout the six hours they’re slated to be there. Andy’s got the table set up with WKRP bumper stickers and pins, not that anyone from Sandusky is all that interested in a struggling station in Cincinnati, but a little advertising never hurts. She watches the rhythm of both Venus and him as they move like people who have worked together for a long time, like they know the ebb and flow of each other’s movements. She always feels awkward and uncertain, when she’s around them, around most men, but with Andy and Venus she’s the closest to herself she ever manages to be.

Venus gives her a thumbs up and she nods, heading over to the table to give her first cut in, a brief description of the day’s events. Andy nods happily as she finishes and Venus cuts away to The Knack. Andy double checks the relay to the station then comes around, falling in step with her as she heads out toward the crowd. Andy has a walkie-talkie to check back in with Venus, and he keeps it turned low so they can hear all of Venus’s patter as he broadcasts.

“Les give you a hard time?”

Bailey shrugs and then gives Andy a smile. “He’s Les.”

“So that’s a yes.” Andy sighs. “I’m really sorry, Bailey. I know he’s rough on you.”

“It’s okay, Andy. He’s not that hard to handle. I’m just glad I’ve got a shot. Besides, there are worse things in the world that being stuck in Sandusky with you and Venus.”

“Like being Les’s date for the Silver Sow Award banquet?”

Bailey shudders slightly. “Don’t even joke about that, Andy.”

“You don’t want to spend the night dressed in a ball gown and wearing a pig nose?” Andy laughs at the look on her face. “Oinking instead of clapping?”

“That’s not even close to funny.” Bailey smiles nonetheless and they keep walking, easily in stride with one another. “Do they really oink instead of clap?”

“I honestly don’t know. I’ve never had the pleasure of being invited.”

“Do they hog-tie the winner?”

Andy laughs, head falling back and his sandy brown hair catching the few rays of sunlight filtering through the gray clouds. “You’ve just given me a picture of Les I never _ever_ wanted, Bailey Quarters.”

She smiles, though whether in response to his comment or to his laughter, she can’t honestly say. “I suppose I owe you an apology then.”

“How about later you just buy me a drink or two to get it out of my head?”

“I think I can do that.” A soft blush darkens Bailey’s cheeks and Andy reaches out, pushing back a strand of her hair as the wind whips it forward. “Andy…”

“Hey!” A large, florid man hurries over to them, dodging the laughing crowd as best he can. Andy’s hand falls and he and Bailey both turn to face him. By the time he reaches them, he’s an even brighter red and his eyes are flashing. “You two! You’re from WKRP, aren’t you?”

Andy suppresses a groan as he nods. “Yes, we are. I’m Andy Travis, the station manager, and you are…?”

“Milton Berringer, chairman of the Bessie Foundation and the organizer of this event. I want to know what you people think you’re doing!”

“Well, Mr. Berringer,” Andy’s southern drawl deepens and he shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. “We’re doing what all the other radio stations are doing here. Remote transmission, on site reports. Is there some sort of problem? We have all the necessary permits.”

“No. No. Your broadcast isn’t the problem. That is!” Andy and Bailey both turn to see a large boat on Lake Erie. The sails balloon in the breeze, the WKRP logo bright and garish on the sailcloth. “What is that?”

“A…boat?” Andy hazards, sending Berringer into a near apoplectic fit.

“Do you think I don’t _know_ it’s a boat? Of course I know it’s a boat! I live on Lake Erie! There aren’t supposed to be any commercial boats in the water around here. No advertising at all! It’s part of the contract!”

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Bellinger,” Andy gives Bailey a quick look and they both know exactly who’s to blame for this. “I assure you my team and I had no idea this was planned.”

“I don’t want excuses, Mr. Travis! I want that boat out of the water! Now!”

“I…um…yes, of course you do,” Andy agrees. “And we’re gonna go make a call and get that taken care of. I promise.” He curves his hand around Bailey’s elbow and turns her, hurrying them both back toward Venus’ set up. “I’m going to strangle that woman.”

Bailey makes a noise and stumbles slightly, only Andy’s grip keeping her on her feet as she stares out at the boat. “Um, Andy?”

“I can’t believe she did this. No. I _can_ believe she did this. We need to get this taken care of before it all blows up in our faces.”

“Andy!”

He looks at Bailey quickly. “What?”

“The boat. I think they’re dropping something over the side. Some sort of barrels.”

“Barrels? Barrels of what?”

**

“Depth charges.” Andy groans, raking a hand through his wet hair.

“Depth charges,” Venus agrees as he taps his hand on the steering wheel in time with the low music from the radio. “And a five thousand dollar fine. Not to mention four citations.”

“Five,” Bailey corrects from the back seat. “Plus a ticket for erratic driving.”

“I was _not_ driving erratically!” Andy snaps.

“Of course not.” Venus nods sagely. “Just like you weren’t rude to the cop.”

“He said we smelled like fish.”

Bailey shrugs. “We do.”

Andy glares at Bailey and then slumps back in the passenger’s seat. “Depth charges.”

“Mama Carlson does get points for creativity,” Venus states, flashing Bailey a quick smile in the rearview mirror.

“True,” Bailey agrees. “You don’t normally see flying fish in Lake Erie.”

Venus laughs once before smothering the sound at Andy’s dirty look. “They weren’t in Lake Erie for long.”

Bailey buries her laugh in her hand then offers Andy a commiserate smile. “It’s not your fault, Andy.”

“I’m the station manager.”

“Yeah.” Venus shrugs. “But Mama Carlson’s just plain old mean, and she’s got the money to afford getting even.”

Andy sighs. “I didn’t even _do_ anything.”

“We know,” Bailey reassures him. “That’s probably her problem, Andy.”

“Yeah.” Andy sighs again and closes his eyes. “Along with a five thousand dollar fine, five citations and a ticket.”

“Don’t forget being banned from Sandusky for as long as the city stands.” Bailey smiles. “I think they wish they’d given us the key to the city, just so they could have taken it back.”

Venus laughs, not hiding it now. “Hope none of us need another job any time soon.”

Andy rolls his eyes. “That’s not funny, Venus.”

“Sure it is, Andy. Admit it.”

Andy exhales and glances back at Bailey. Having been close to the water’s edge when the fish started to fly, the two of them are bedraggled and still damp. “Maybe a little funny.”

Bailey smiles at him, specks of water still staining her oversized glasses. “Just a little?”

“The flying fish were funny.” The corner of Andy’s mouth curves up. “I’ll admit that much.”

“That’s going in my news report.” Bailey taps her notebook. “This is going to be the best remote broadcast wrap up Les Nessman has ever heard. He’s not going to have any idea what hit him.”

**

“I have no idea what hit me.”

The rest of the staff is gathered around Jennifer’s desk as Andy, Venus and Bailey walk in, forming a semi-circle around Les. He’s sitting in Jennifer’s chair, his head tilted back and a huge ice pack covering the balding spot. He’s dressed in a tuxedo, the bow tie tilted at a crazy angle. No one looks up as they enter, except for Herb, who glances their way, sniffs the air and then goes back to listening to Les.

“I was just walking along, heading out to my car, that shining beacon of journalistic achievement held reverentially in my hands when suddenly the world exploded in a flash of light…”

“And fish?” Venus mutters.

Les gives Venus a dubious look and continues. “And then everything went dark. When I woke up, all the other reporters were gathered around me and everyone was asking where it was, what had happened. A whole convention room full of reporters and none of them could get the story straight.” He adjusts the ice pack and looks over at Andy, Bailey and Venus as if seeing them for the first time. “What happened to you?”

“Fish.” Venus explains.

“Lake Erie monster,” Bailey adds.

“Who hit you, Les?”

“I don’t know, Andy.” Les removes the ice pack to reveal a swath of gauze around his head, his ubiquitous band-aid barely covering a huge gash on his forehead. “But whoever has this year’s Silver Sow award is the culprit.”

“Well,” Bailey asks, “Who won it?”

“Not who won it, Bailey.” Les speaks as if talking to a small child. “Who _has_ it. Because whoever has it stole it from me.”

“Why did you have it?” Andy tilts his head; his still damp bangs flopping over his forehead.

“Les won,” Jennifer informs them all, her voice lilting with pride, though her smile fades. “And then he got mugged.”

“You got mugged. For the Silver Sow Award. I should have known.” Bailey blows out a breath and moves past the crowd toward the offices, her shoes squeaking wetly on the floor. “So much for my shot at tonight’s top story.”  



End file.
